


Intolerable

by lawsofchaos



Series: Consular High Warlock Magnus Bane [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alec Lightwood is That Nice Thing, Consular High Warlock Magnus Bane, Implied immortal husbands, M/M, Magical Bond, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Possessive Magnus Bane, Semi-Sentient Magic, just absolute fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawsofchaos/pseuds/lawsofchaos
Summary: Magnus wants nothing more than to flood Alec with his magic until it would be easier to separate the waters of two rivers than to untangle where Magnus ends and Alec begins, and the presence of another, the presence of a power that does not belong toMagnustouching Alec’s core is an acid-burn in Magnus’ mind.It isintolerableand Magnuswill nothave it.~Or the one in which everyone returns from Edom and Magnus' magic decides that Alec is precious and must not be allowed to be possibly harmed by Lorenzo's intruding magic
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Consular High Warlock Magnus Bane [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710397
Comments: 118
Kudos: 676





	Intolerable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aria_Lerendeair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Lerendeair/gifts).



> A very belated Happy Birthday, a slightly belated Merry Christmas, and a reasonably on-time Happy New Year/End of 2020 to my dear friend Aria. ❤️ Thank you for being there (and letting me anxiety rant at you more than a few times this year oops).
> 
> Also, Canon What Canon and Timeline What Timeline should be liberally applied (as always for my fics) and Overuse of Italics is probably a tag I should learn to love lol. 
> 
> This is set sometime vaguely after Dona Nobis Pacem and, at some point, I think this may end up getting re-written as a full fic exploring Magnus and Alec's wedding and delving into the politics of Consort Alec Lightwood-Bane. (Possibly also some minor tweaking of DNP to make the timeline fit better lol)

The portal that takes their party away from Edom less drops them into the living room of Magnus’ loft and more spits them out with disgust before blinking away with the peculiar, unhappy sputter of magic that has been forced much too far from its preferred limits.

Jace’s loud swearing overlaps with Raphael’s muttered Spanish in the suddenly cluttered room, Ragnor’s own curses made in a language long-forgotten by the tongues of those living. Lorenzo’s strident tones interweave through them all in his determination to ensure no one forgets his great sacrifice in risking the Alliance rune and traveling down to Edom. Even Catarina lets out a muffled oath at the hard landing.

Magnus ignores everything, however, as he scrambles madly to his feet in a desperate search through the tangle of bodies on his floor. He’d been separated from Alec in the final minutes of battle against his father, the last futile wisps of Asmodeus’ unfettered magic arcing in lethal bolts across Edom’s skies, charring the jagged cliffs that broke the unending flatness of Edom’s plains.

Alexander is an _archer,_ seeking high ground is enshrined in his blood, and Magnus is _terrified_ that the lightning was no mere display of waning power, but that Asmodeus had targeted his love in recompense for the newly enforced bonds tying the Prince of Hell to his realm and freeing Magnus.

Cat is sprawled out next to and partially on top of Maia, and normally there’s nothing in the world that would keep Magnus from helping up one of his dearest friends, but for every moment he doesn’t see the black-garbed form of his husband, Magnus’ heart pounds faster and his breath rises higher and higher in his throat.

There’s a muffled groan from behind Meliorn’s prone form, an unfortunately familiar sound of pain, and Magnus rushes forward in an ungainly scramble as he all but climbs over the Commander of the Seelie Queen’s Guard.

“ _Alexander,_ ” he breathes in relief, his hands automatically moving to clutch Alec to his chest even as the nephilim is struggling to rise from where he’d landed, limbs akimbo on the floor. Magnus’ arms encircle Alec, tight enough that his fair skin is certain to bruise, but Magnus physically _cannot_ make himself loosen his grip.

Magnus has been trapped in Edom for far too many days to countenance anything but the certainty of having Alexander pressed against him as firmly as he can manage, having truly thought that he’d never see his precious darling ever again. Pressed together tightly enough that Magnus feels Alec’s heartbeat in his chest, he can begin to believe that this may just be _real,_ that this isn’t some fever dream of fleeting bliss his mind has created to break the endless monotony and horror of Edom.

Alec is clutching Magnus back just as tight though and Magnus is desperately grateful for the tangible proof that Alec is okay, that Alec is safe and unharmed and _here_ under the strongest set of wards that Magnus has ever produced.

“ _Magnus,”_ and Alec’s voice is a prayer given breath even as he presses his cheek into the top of Magnus’ head, enfolding the warlock in an all-encompassing hug that presses them limb to limb, not even a molecule of air coming between them.

“You _came_ for me,” Magnus whispers, the words escaping him in an unthinking moment of shock before he can bite them back, and Alec makes a wounded noise in return, his arms wrapping somehow _impossibly_ tighter around Magnus’ chest.

“I will always come for you, Magnus,” Alec chokes, the words too intimate, too personal for the crowd they’re surrounded by, but Alec doesn’t stop. “I swear to you on my oath and by my blood, that nought but death itself will stop me from coming for you.”

Magnus shivers helplessly at the absolute certainty in that promise, in the knowledge that Alec makes that oath to him with full knowledge of what it may come to mean and doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause for even a moment. Alec’s speech rarely delves into the formal strictures of the Old Tongue of his people, but Magnus knows that oath, recognizes the shape of the words from their similarity to another oath that Alec has sworn. Though this oath may not be burned into his skin, Magnus knows without question that Alec has burned it into his soul instead.

“ _Alexander,”_ Magnus finally repeats, hiding his face in Alec’s leather hunt jacket to block out the world, to block out the damnable wetness he can _feel_ on his cheeks. Alec’s chest does an admirable job in helping Magnus ignore the rustling of Isabelle and Meliorn and Cat and Maia rising to their feet nearby, the others doing the same on the far side of the room.

Without his bidding, Magnus’ magic surges up and crosses the tenuous link Magnus has held with Alec ever since the first night Alec shared his power, willingly and gladly and putting no limits on Magnus’ ability to reach into the well of angelic energy at Alec’s core.

Magnus’ magic is _infatuated_ with Alec; it delights in flowing and twisting down the metaphysical cord that links them both to wrap coils of power in layers of protective shielding around the unsuspecting nephilim, protecting him even when Magnus is unable to be physically present.

Little sparks of magic gleefully jump from Magnus every time they’re together to nestle as deep in Alec as they can go, adoringly hugging the wellspring at Alec’s center, the crisp fire of angelic power seemingly glowing brighter in happiness for every spark that nuzzles up and settles down to stay, and even his wards caress Alec, attuning to his safety and comfort for every moment he stays under their safeguard (where he _belongs_ and where Magnus would keep him forever if he could).

Today though, Magnus’ magic flows down their link and halts in horrified shock at the swirling dregs of acid-yellow power invading Alec’s core where nothing but _AlecandMagnus_ should be present.

Magnus snarls.

“Magnus?” He can hear Alec asking, obviously alarmed, but Magnus is _wordless_ with rage and is already moving, using his hold on Alec to force his darling backwards, pushing him until his back is pressed firmly against the wall.

Magnus brackets Alec entirely, using his own body as protection and shield from any behind them who might dare to touch his love, might _dare_ to further push their sickly, jaundiced power into _his_ Alexander.

Intellectually, Magnus knows that the embers and traces of _other_ in Alec’s body are naught but the fading remnants of Alec’s tie to Lorenzo through the Alliance rune. Intellectually, Magnus is beyond grateful to Lorenzo for taking the risk of accepting an untested rune, beyond grateful for the skilled protection he granted Alec in Edom. _Intellectually_ , Magnus even _likes_ the intelligent and proud young warlock, going so far as to grant him the title of Acting High Warlock of New York when Magnus had been forced down to Edom until the Labyrinth could assist in formal elections.

Intellectually, Magnus knows all of this, but here and now with Alec in front of him, in his arms when he’d thought he’d never see him again, Magnus’ magic is _longing_ to tangle itself up with the bright bits of angelic power surging up to the very boundaries of Alec’s being, Alec’s core unconsciously reaching out to where Magnus’ power has halted, just as desperate for him as Alec _himself_ was desperate to enfold Magnus in his arms in Edom’s throne room only a few hours earlier.

Magnus’ magic is _yearning_ to enmesh itself back into Alec’s very being, impatiently craving nothing more than to ensure that never again can they be parted, that never again can Magnus’ soul be forced to curl up alone in Magnus’ body instead of joyfully and gloriously luxuriating in being _oneintwo,_ Alec’s core an unwavering and steadfast bulwark of love and shelter that Magnus has never before known.

Magnus wants nothing more than to flood Alec with his magic until it would be easier to separate the waters of two rivers than to untangle where Magnus ends and Alec begins, and the presence of another, the presence of a power that does not belong to _Magnus_ touching Alec’s core is an acid-burn in Magnus’ mind.

It is _intolerable_ and Magnus _will not_ have it.

Alec is _his_ in the same way that Magnus belongs solely and utterly to his angel, and Magnus will burn every drop of magic he carries before allowing a single speck of that acrid, jaundiced power to remain in his lover.

Still nonverbal in his absolute _outrage_ that anyone would dare so much as _attempt_ to usurp his claim on Alec, Magnus brackets Alec even more firmly up against the wall, attempting to shield as much of his love from view as possible, jealously guarding him from even the allies behind them while the inferior, _invading_ power may make him vulnerable.

Magnus turns his attention inward to the link between he and Alec that had been so stretched and starved while Magnus was in Edom. His power lances down the link in quicksilver darts, strengthening it and widening it so that Magnus can pour more and more and more of his magic into Alexander. Magnus doesn’t even have to provide direction before it inerringly streaks to each point where the terrible, intruding remnants rest, pricking and stinging against Magnus’ magic.

Furiously, _possessively_ , Magnus’ power encircles every putrid spark and burns them out in purposeful conflagrations of sheer, overwhelming power. With his parentage, Magnus has long been one of the most powerful warlocks in existence, but with Edom’s strength newly surging through his veins, Magnus knows that he has been placed an order of magnitude over even what he was before.

The pallid yellow embers are quickly subdued, and for every unwanted spark extinguished, Magnus’ magic writhes gleefully and roots itself deeper and deeper into his lover.

Nephilim lack the sensitivity to feel or interact with warlock magic, and Magnus doesn’t know if it’s something unique to his lover, as never before has a Shadowhunter been so drenched in and wrapped in magical power, or if it’s a result of the sheer _amount_ of magic that Magnus is flooding into him, but Alec must be able to feel _something_ because he’s suddenly shivering against Magnus’ chest, a whine of not-quite-pain bubbling up soundlessly in his throat.

Magnus is still far beyond the ability to use words, but he nuzzles into Alec’s shoulder and wordlessly hushes him, fingers tapping a soothing drumbeat on tense muscles and humming a gentle, tuneless song as he focuses on eradicating any last _trace_ of other from his darling.

Finally, there is nothing in Alexander but _AlecandMagnus_ and Magnus is whole at last, his heartbeat slowing from the fury of discovering someone, _anyone,_ had dared come so close his love’s core but him, and his magic is swirling elatedly, cuddling up and rooting itself in any unclaimed nook it can find, jealously guarding the one being it has claimed as _theirs_ from any further unwanted claims.

The link between them is nothing so slight as what it was before, the bond practically _singing_ with newfound strength, close to physically shedding sparks of magic into the aether so filled with rushing power is it, and Magnus just hums louder and rubs his nose against Alec’s throat, luxuriating in having Alec back where belongs, with _Magnus_ , and wrapped in layers of protective, shielding power.

Alec is loose-limbed against him, punch-drunk and dazed from the onslaught of power in a way the Shadowhunters are supposed to be immune to, but Magnus is suddenly supporting enough of Alec’s weight that he thinks Alec may actually fall over if he attempts to move. (Not that Magnus would ever, _ever_ allow Alec to fall. His magic actually shivers in horrified anger at the very _thought._ )

Magnus shifts his stance ever so slightly to better hold Alexander in his arms, contented and pleased even if he deeply wishes there was no one else in his loft so he could hurry Alec into their bed and curl up around him in joy and love and sheer, overarching _disbelief_ at the lengths to which his lover has clearly gone to reunite them.

Ragnor sneezes loudly behind them.

Magnus ignores him and cuddles closer to Alec.

Ragnor, however, does not _appreciate_ being ignored and Magnus doesn’t have to turn around to know that his oldest friend is crossing his arms over his chest and raising a single eyebrow at Magnus’ back.

Magnus pointedly ignores Ragnor harder.

Alec makes a happy noise as Magnus somehow manages to hold him even tighter and Ragnor sneezes again, apparently not content to follow Magnus’ unspoken wish for everyone to disappear so that Magnus can bask in being _here_ , with Alec pressed against him body and mind alike.

“You know,” Ragnor begins drily, “ _most_ people wait to form a consort bond with their lover until they’re _not_ surrounded by a dozen or so of their assorted friends, families, and allies.”

A retort is on the very tip of Magnus’ tongue, telling his dear old cabbage to hush when he freezes abruptly.

Oh.

Oh _dear._

Magnus cautiously prods the newly strengthened bond and Alec immediately melts even deeper into Magnus’ hold (which means he can _definitely_ feel Magnus’ magic, which shouldn’t be possible, but that’s going to have to be a problem for another day because, well, _oh_ _dear_ indeed _._ ) That is a _consort bond._

Magnus brain fizzles for a moment - consort bonds aren’t even supposed to be _possible_ with a non-warlock partner. Moreover, he can barely even _comprehend_ the political can of worms it will be for the Consular High Warlock of the Americas to declare a _Shadowhunter,_ the Head of the New York Institute and an immensely powerful member of the Clave in his own right nonetheless, as his consort.

Oh _dear._

After a long pause of shocked silence from the others crammed into Magnus’ living room, the quiet is once more broken- this time by the sound of Meliorn’s throaty chuckles. (The Seelie always have loved chaos, Magnus supposes.)

It’s only a moment before Raphael joins in, Catarina’s joyful giggles rising above them both as the others delve into disbelieving laughter too.

Magnus risks a short glance behind them and Alec’s siblings at least are evidently delighted. Magnus doesn’t know what Jace must be feeling from his parabatai, but _something_ is clearly coming through because he’s leaning far too heavily on Isabelle, looking almost tipsy even through his excitement and joy.

So much will need to be done and dealt with tomorrow, Magnus knows, between his own arrival back in this realm, the fact that he now carries the strength of Edom in his veins and has somehow managed to form a _consort bond_ with Alexander, but, for tonight, Magnus just buries his face in Alec’s shoulder and grins.

He can feel Alec in his _heart,_ his beloved exultant and riding on waves of happiness and bliss, his core somehow, _impossibly,_ leaving its boundaries and twining in contentment with the coils of Magnus’ power wrapped and twined around him. For tonight, Magnus lets himself get swept away on the waves of adoring joy and love.

Tomorrow will come tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lawsofchaos1)!
> 
> 🌻🌻❤️❤️ Kudos make me happy, but comments make my day! ❤️❤️🌻🌻 


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